


Wonderful

by TheCumberLadyInTheWoods



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Return, dabble, non-pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCumberLadyInTheWoods/pseuds/TheCumberLadyInTheWoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>656 Kingston Square, Apartment 459B, 15 mintes, come if convenient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonderful

***

_656 Kingston Square, Apartment 459B, 15 minutes, come if convenient -SH_

DI Greg Lestrade stared down at the text message on his phone. The number was one he hadn't seen in over three years. Sherlock? But how? Surely this was someone pulling a really horrible prank and when he found out who…

His mobile chimed again. Without hesitation he opened the next message.

_If inconvenient come anyway. –SH_

Lestrade smirked and thought “Cheeky bastard” before he could remind himself that this could not be Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes had taken a swan dive off of St. Bart’s hospital and died. He had seen the body, he had investigated the incident, he had attended the funeral, and he had visited the grave on a weekly basis trying to find a way to make amends for the fact that he was at least partly responsible for his…friend’s death. He put his phone back into his pocket and tried refocused his attention on what Anderson and Donovan were telling him. Whoever was sending these texts would stop after they realized Lestrade wasn't going to come.

He spent the next ten minutes listening Anderson and Donovan build some impossible explanation about a case they had been working on for weeks. It was times like this he really missed Sherlock the most.

***

He had told himself he wasn't going to come, knew it was very likely a trap of some sort but damned if he could figure out who or why. He kept trying to ignore a part of his mind that whispered that maybe it was possible Sherlock had survived the fall but his more rational side told him that wasn’t possible. Even someone as clever and brilliant as Sherlock couldn't fake his own death.

When he pulled up to 565 Kingston Square he was ten minutes late and felling foolish. He had to come. He’d thought about texting or calling John but a quick glance at the time told him he was at the surgery and wouldn't want to be interrupted. Since Sherlock’s death John had been working an insane amount of hours at the hospital and at night he stayed up pouring through anything he could get his hands on to try and prove, once and for all, that Jim Moriarty was real and Sherlock had not been a fake.

As he stepped from the car Lestrade felt as if someone was watching him. He glanced up at the building in front of him and sure enough a figure was watching from one of the windows on the top floor. He went inside and hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. He put his hand inside his coat ready to defend himself should need be. When he reached the fourth floor and headed toward the end to room 459B he heard the sound of a violin playing. The music slow and dreamy, beautiful.  
Lestrade noted that the door was standing partially opened and when he pushed it, it revealed the most pleasant shock he had ever had in his life. Sitting right there, in a battered greenish blue armchair was Sherlock Holmes sawing away on a violin as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Tears welled up in the Inspectors eyes.

“Sher…She…Sherlock?” He stammered as he pushed inside and walked over to the man. Sherlock stopped his playing and turned his gaze up to the man. He’d lost weight, Lestrade noticed, a dangerous amount to be perfectly honest, and he looked older, more haggard even though there wasn't a hair out of place.

“You were expecting someone else?” Sherlock replied haughtily as he stood and sat his instrument down before straightening his coat. “You’re late by the way.” He tried to keep his tone neutral, unimpressed but a small curve of his lips showed his pleasure.

“Honestly, no.” Lestrade replied and smiled.

“Good, I require a favor.” Sherlock said and moved over to the small table that sat under a window and served as a desk.

"That's it." Lestrade inquired as he watched the man. "Three years and all you have to say is I'm late and that you require a favor." Sherlock stopped in his progress toward the table and turned around. His brows drew together and the detective could tell his colleague was fighting to understand his meaning.

"You want me to apologize for tricking you? You want me to apologize for faking my death?" The questions were asked with a slight hint of confusion, as if Sherlock wasn't quite sure that it was the right thing or not.

"A simple, surprise would do really."

"Well, surprise." Sherlock said before turning back around.

Lestrade tried to fight it, he really did but in the end he couldn't stop himself. He burst out laughing and moved across the room. He grabbed Sherlock up and hugged him.

"It's good to have you back." He commented as he released his friend. "So good to have you back."

FIN


End file.
